A Mind Full of Fire
by LeDeuxGato
Summary: Second attempt at a fanfic! I like to write 'em short.  P Angsty look at the Anders' thoughts, feel free to review! I appreciate ALL criticism! M!Hawke/Anders!


I knew when I first saw the man he would be a distraction.

His eyes, his hair, his hands, his whole _body_ was tempting. After all this time brooding and pondering in the dark, he was like a fresh drink of cold water, bringing me back to life. His eyes were a sparkly grey (it wouldn't be until later, when I was wrapped in his arms that I'd see the tiny flecks of icy blue that freckled their surface), his hair was a rich deep red, and his handsome, finely cut features were perfectly drawn together by the blue tattoos inked on his cheeks.

He looked every bit the warrior, and at first I was intimidated by his demeanor. He was a rough leader, a no nonsense kind of man that took his duties seriously. He didn't tolerate whispering amongst our group, we were to all talk freely in front of him…he was suspicious, and I could tell he was a tiny bit unsure of our opinion of him. Behind the steeliness of his stare, lurked vulnerability, but of course he never exposed it.

Time and time again, I bit back the jealousy that flamed up my insides when I saw him pinch Isabela's behind, or whisper secrets to her that made even _her_ blush. After just a few weeks, it became achingly apparent that our leader was no virgin…and he had his sights set on Isabela. For once, Fenris the mage-hating elf and I agreed on something…the whole affair was unsettling. Part of me hoped that Isabela would decline him…but I should've known better, she touched him at every chance she got. It made me angry…how she considered him just a spicy midnight morsel, while I would treat him so much _better_ than that. I could protect him, hold him, _be with him_. All she could offer was a roll in the hay.

But at night, when I lay awake, staring at Kirkwall bathed in moonlight through my window, doubts would creep into my mind. _"What makes you think you can offer any more than Isabela? You're an abomination, an apostate and former Grey Warden on the run…you have but 30 years, give or take, to live. All you'll give him is a load of grief and worry."_ I battled these thoughts, but they pressed and pressed, and I knew the were true. I could offer no more than Isabela. My fantasies, once more, were nothing but smoke in the wind.

To this day I blame him for what happened.

_He_ was the one to flirt with me first, his eyebrow quirked, a smile on his face. I hadn't expected that…but of course, here in the Hanged Man, when it was just me and him, he didn't have to put on his tough warrior exterior. It was okay for him to just…relax.

He told me I had a _sexy tortured look_, which made me grin. I subconsciously lifted my hand to my hair and pushed it back. I had it down right now…I didn't need it pulled away from my eyes if I wasn't in battle or leaning over a patient. I told him that I had never met a man so open about his preferences. He leaned forward, and wrapped a strand of hair around his finger. "Well, I've never met a man quite like you, Anders."

Then, with a wink, he paid for his drink and left…leaving me to stare at the wall and contemplate his meaning. But of course, that voice had to persist, had to push. _"You are idiotic. Do you truly think he will want you when he knows what you are capable of becoming? When he learns what little control you have? You are nothing but a bedmate to him…you are a fool to think otherwise_._" _

_I pushed my pint away and laid my head down in my arms, the conflict swirling inside my gut. And it certainly didn't end there._

_Over and over again, he persisted. With each passing day, he got more and more apparent with his flirtations. He began to ignore the others altogether, and would instead come to my clinic and amuse me between patients. He'd play games with rocks, draw obscene pictures in the dirt, and flick small objects at me to get my attention. Little by little, his angry warrior shell peeled away, and I saw what was underneath…a witty, lovable, if rather dorky young man._

_Every day, it got harder and harder to deny him. I knew the voice was right, I knew Justice was right (his anger and impatience pulsed in my veins), so I tried to focus on my patients, I tried to ignore Hawke. But it was getting harder, my resolve was cracking._

_It wasn't until 5 years after I met him, that it finally broke. That I finally went to his estate, let him touch me and kiss me for the first time. That I finally lay down in his bed and let him strip me of my clothing, one article at a time._

_And afterwards, laying in his arms, I tried to memorize everything about him. His smell, his shape, the sound of his breath. At that moment, it didn't matter that I was an apostate. That I was an abomination. All that mattered was our future…he spoke of me staying in the estate with him until we both died, he spoke of a future where I didn't have to hide or run, where I got to lay like this in his arms every night until we both grew old._

_If he only knew, at the time, how very wrong he was._


End file.
